


The Reporter and The Sergeant

by overkill_max



Category: The Expanse (TV)
Genre: Bobbie is sad about Mars, Character Study, F/F, Intrigue, Monica climbs Bobbie like a tree, Monica just wanted a story, Sex in Space, and found herself in love, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overkill_max/pseuds/overkill_max
Summary: Monica and Bobbie meet during a tense standoff inside the ring. When it becomes the slow zone incident. Then, they meet once again, under enemy fire and dangerous circumstances. Can anything come from meeting like this, time and time again? Or are they destined to pass each other and never touch?AKAThe “Monica takes one look at Bobbie in the Roci and wants to climb her like a tree” canon adjacent AU
Relationships: Bobbie Draper/Monica Stuart
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Once Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Monica Stuart doing what we all would have done, had we been given the chance, to climb Bobbie Draper like the tall, beautiful tree that she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on 5x10 scene where Bobbie and Monica meet. But it starts way before that…

//

**_The First Meeting_ **

//

She remembers Sergeant Draper.

Even if the other woman does not remember her. Monica remembers their first meeting because Roberta Draper is the kind of woman you can never forget.

There is a perfectly good reason she does not blame the Martian for not remembering her. It had been a brief affair. Terribly one-sided. For which the other woman had barely clung onto consciousness before passing out from a combination of blood loss and exhaustion.

The way her blood painted the well-worn metal red was not why she was memorable. It was not her stature. The muscles. Or even her big sad eyes. Those things were not the ones that had drawn her to the Sergeant. It was the sound of that melodic voice, tinged with a distinct Mariner Valley accent that was lilting.

Roberta Draper and Monica Stuart had met before.

It had been brief.

It had been one-sided.

But it had happened, and Monica would never be the same after.

Not with the way she had been instantly drawn to the other woman.

Even without seeing her, Monica understood that they had to mean something to each other.

Maybe not at this exact moment, when more pressing matters to attend needed to be taken care of, but soon. Or at least she had hoped it was soon. Because she felt that pull between them that refused to slacken.

She does not blame the Martian, though. It had been a fleeting moment. A very one-sided affair in which the other woman had barely been conscious for.

//

They had met on a dark day. If Monica had been a poet instead of a journalist, she would have described it as dreary. Instead, dark days were factual. Descriptive. As cold and endless as the vacuum of space. Unless...

Unless you were near a star like Sol.

Warm and bathed in light that had hours and days that were easy to measure and tell apart from one another.

This was not a poetically dark day. Although, it might have been. It was a dark day because they could have possibly been annihilated and nobody would have known what happened. The ring could have closed behind them and they would have been turned to blue goop.

Another Eros in the making.

She had stubbornly been chasing a story. The way she always does. In that reckless way that ends up with her being in physical danger. Two seconds away from being spaced. Or worse. About to lose an important source.

Those parts, the boring bits leading up to their meeting were not as memorable.

Her mind was spinning like Ceres station. Round and round. Rushing through the million things she had to take care of to ensure they would be able to broadcast through the Internship Relief Channel from inside the Behemoth without any interruptions.

They sprinted through corridors. All identical to each other. The only map being a hand terminal, lighting their way. Guiding them towards the place they needed to be to make this whole thing possible.

Those boring parts. Well… they led to the bigger parts. The ones that opened to a brief meeting.

//

Monica admired the part of herself that was relentless. The dogged tenacity required for a reporter chasing story after story that mostly fizzled into nothing substantial. She also hated that part of herself. The bit that was always chasing after something. Another story. Looking for the final piece of the puzzle. Trying to unlock a whole picture before her eyes fully understood what she was looking at.

That part of herself made her reckless. It also made her a damn good reporter. This and on the other side of the ring.

Which is why it was very dangerous to be who she was. The type of reporter that constantly ran towards trouble. No gun. No backup. Just a camera and her wits about her. Misjudging the risk she was putting herself in because of that relentless force, like an Epstein drive, constantly pushing her forward without a way to slow down or stop.

Her brain refused to stop thinking properly. To let her sleep. She was too busy turning things over and over again. Pulling at hundreds of threads, hoping this would be the one that would unravel everything in front of her eyes. The one thread that by pulling, would snap and make everything clear. That would show her how the whole thing fit together.

Puzzles and garments.

Her life was made up of outdated metaphors and trite poetry.

//

Monica remembers the tension inside of that entire ship. Their collected sweat dropped off their bodies in heavy, beads. If there had been gravity without the recyclers to collect their sweat, it would have created condensation, like a lake. Sweat pooling together on the metal ceilings. Until it rained down on them from above. Just like rain, she imagined. Just like the rain on earth, showering them with their own wasted efforts and regrets.

Instead. The recyclers worked and the humidity was perfect. A controlled environment slightly too cool for most people to stand comfortably.

Even then, they were sweating.

Three warring factions. Lost worlds beyond the ring. Trying to find a single man. More than a man.

James Holden was an ideal.

James usually travelled with his crew.

To Monica, to make those lost moments sound more exciting and less terrifying, she thinks of him as a sole man. So, Monica remembers a time when Earth, Mars, and the Belt were scrambling to find a lone man. A desperate man that insisted there was an echo of a civilization inside his head that was reaching out. That spoke to him, and him alone, that they were ready.

James Holden. Earther poster boy of being caught in the middle of one galactic disaster after another. The kind of guy that was up against an airlock and a gun and never once considered giving up. He was once again refusing to quit. He wanted to save humanity.

If she had not spent time in the Rocinante, seeing him and is crew, she would have also locked him up before spacing him. James was the type of man that was easy to doubt. No one could be that damn noble.

He seemed nothing more than a legend. A charming, albeit distracted and sometimes vacant smile.

If Monica was the type of woman that others chided for being a magnet for trouble, he was the type of man that turned into a blackhole exclusively sucking up all the trouble in the universe into himself. He was more than a spray-painted reminder that stood for the memory of a ship long forgotten and destroyed. A blackhole for trouble born out of nothing but misinformation and good intentions.

//

Monica had been on that ship because she was following James Holden.

It had been an exciting job, paying triple their rate, all to interview a man she would have paid to get to know. Not because she was interested in him. She was curious. She wanted to peel back the veneer of Montana country boy with 8 sets of genes. She needed to figure out what made him broadcast that first message about the Cant. What made him rush towards Eros. What made him fly headfirst into a dangerous, alien weapon made from millions of lost souls and heated atmospheres no human could survive in.

She followed a man like James because Monica knew that wherever he was, whatever he did, it would need reporting.

//

If she had known her mysterious benefactor would get her spaced and continuously shot at… well... she would have been more hesitant about taking on such a suicidal mission.

But only a little.

She would have still chased after James. After the story. She would have jumped headfirst, no mag boots to the ground, into the unknown. Into those warm, sad eyes that caught her.

//

Instead of jumping. In this moment, she was questioning her unbelievably good fortune. Even while caught on the other side of a hail of bullets, she was more than she had been before. She went from Monica Stuart, occasionally unemployed reporter with a few good stories to her name, to being in the middle of a historic event. As it was unfolding. Not reporting it years or even days after it happened.

The camera was aimed at her face. Too close to be a good angle. She was too scared to think about vanity or even posteriority. Instead, she was pleading with everyone to listen. She asked that they turn off their drives.

It was instantaneous.

The disappointment and desperation she felt at knowing that even though she had been reporting about the conditions of the Behemoth with absolute transparency, she was still a nobody.

She looked past the camera and realized that, while she was still a nobody, she was with a somebody. A certain somebody who was quite trustworthy. So, Monica did what she knew best, she pointed the camera towards someone who had been instrumental in uncovering corruption. A gentle soul that was far more renown than she ever could be.

A person that was far more trustworthy than even a man who had started an inter-Sol war. A man equipped with good intentions, bad decisions, and a ship he called legitimate salvage, but the rightful owners called stolen.

Monica asked Reverend Anna Volovodov to address the people trapped inside the ring.

//

Monica was not an easy woman to impress. She had met countless liars, thieves and criminals. All who hid behind a good façade. Pretending to be men and women that cared about others. That did things for the greater good.

Peeling back those layers, she often found that the greater good meant lining their pockets.

Even James Holden, with his tired eyes and good intentions, took a while to get off her shit list.

Reverend Anna.

Reverend Anna was different.

The way she opened up to the camera… it was… it made Monica understand those murals around the Behemoth. The ones that told of religious experiences and long journeys based on nothing but fate. Reverend Anna was unpretentious and sincere and pure of heart in a way Monica could not find a way to hate or doubt.

This was a woman that fumbled through metaphors. A woman that was flustered to be caught up in all of this. Same as Monica. But, Reverend Anna had this grace about her that made Monica feel like she didn’t know how to write. For the Reverend fumbled through her speech in a way that seemed right. Every new word was perfect, hesitant, but perfect and just led to the next word that was needed. And then the next. Somehow finding a way to connect through thousands of screens and dozens of cultures.

//

Her message was beautiful. It came from the heart of a woman that wanted them all to be brave.

Reverend Anna was the type of shepherd that would lead a lost flock out of the darkness.

Make sure that they all basked in the light.

Together.

//

It was a rousing speech.

Monica was mesmerized.

She was becoming a believer…

Then the bullets started flying and for a second, instinct kicked in.

She had always believed herself a coward. Her instinct for survival had been high enough that she had avoided being spaced a couple of times. And even after she had been spaced, with a vac suit on, she still felt herself wither at her own spinelessness. Monica thought she was brave. Then, she realized when she was faced with certain death. With a knife at her throat, she was the type of woman that would beg.

That is why she surprised herself when instead of running for cover, she found her own body wrapping around the other woman. Putting herself in front of the Reverend. Moving her. Protecting her. Leading her towards a wall and crouching down in front of her.

//

Bullets cut through thick metal in echoing spurts that made it hard to stop them from feeling like they were ricocheting in her skull. An incessant clang that kept going even when there were breaks from the fire fight.

//

More bullets.

//

Then a shout.

//

“This is Gunnery Sergeant Roberta Draper, Martian Marine Corps! I am ordering you to cease your broadcast, put down your weapons, and come out with your hands raised!”

In those brief seconds. Before recognition flooded their faces and they exchanged greetings. That voice made of steel and authority did something to Monica.

The air felt hotter around her. Her face and neck turned a deep crimson as she chided herself for how inappropriate it was to think about the pool of arousal shooting between her legs, right as they are facing certain death.

All because of a stupid, beautifully lilting voice.

She hated her body. Then again… Monica had faced death so many times that she had already gone through every conceivable emotion there was to have just as one is about to die. It was no wonder that she both failed to surprise herself and surprised herself just the same.

//

She tried to tune out that voice as she asked Reverend Anna to keep talking.

//

The shouting was distracting but she was in her element. In the middle of a story. She was a reporter. Owning not her life or the ones of her subjects. Only being responsible for the story that would inform all those around her.

Holden had his mission.

She did too.

Monica’s mission was to get the truth out to everyone. Broadcast events as they unfolded.

//

She did not see what was beyond the corner.

She could imagine it though.

The hallway would be just like the one they were cowering in. There were echoes made up of grunting and gunfire. Competing with the Reverend’s voice. Clearly transmitted through the camera’s microphones.

//

The moment had lasted forever and yet it was brief. She blinked and then there was silence.

The aftermath.

After the shouting and the introductions. The failed negotiations and murdered friends. After all that, came a lumbering figure. Carried towards them by an unsteady shuffle that got closer and closer until she was half crouched and then laid down on the ground.

Monica heard the warning. The worried way she reminded the man that caused her to get shot by her own team that there would be more to follow. That they were not the only ones wanting to stop them. If they had failed, they would soon be joined by others who would not hesitate to shoot down the corridor before they asked them to stow their weapons.

//

True to her word. There came more gunfire. Monica had one hand holding her camera. The other was steady on Reverend Anna’s shoulder. A firm squeezing of her fingers. Silent message to encourage the other woman. To help give her strength through her speech. Even as they were being hunted down like animals. They needed the world inside the ring to be as one. To work together and join them in shutting off their drives.

//

Monica should have been paying attention. The woman in front of her was saying things that would be broadcast outside of the ring. If they made it out alive. She was history in the making… and yet… all Monica could do was look over the Reverend’s shoulder.

Her eyes were drawn towards the Sergeant that had a commanding, swinging voice that was as lyrical as it was dangerous. Her gaze was drawn towards a bleeding woman that was no longer conscious.

//

That is why, she does not hold it against Sergeant Draper for not remembering their first meeting.

It had been more memorable for Monica than it had been for the other woman.

She had been shot and lay bleeding as shots rang out and then the lights turned off. The drive had been shut down and then the rings had opened.

Sergeant Draper had been unconscious and then recovering while Monica had been trying to report what would be a universe defining moment for their entire species.

Which is why she does not hold it against the other woman. To be so quickly forgotten.

//

**_First Meeting. Take Two._ **

//

After another battle. This time with bullets larger than the ones that bounced off of metal hallways and got sucked into the recyclers. Monica was ready for a break.

She was tired of being shot at. Running out of oxygen. Having her life be threatened because she happens to be on the side of truth.

It was a dangerous place to be.

For it often coincided with being on the wrong side of dangerous people. The kind that wanted the truth to stay where it was. Hidden away in the darkest corner of this universe and the next one over.

The type of people that had already paid a small fortune in UN Dollars and untraceable, black-market poker chips. A substantial payment to silence her forever.

James Holden. With his inability to stop drawing chaos to himself, like an open airlock draws everything through it, until there is nothing but the vacuum of space on both sides of it.

He had brought another dangerous story into her life. An interesting puzzle worth turning over and figuring out.

He brought chaos and he brought wonder.

//

Gunnery Sergeant Roberta Draper was in the same ship as her.

//

Monica had tried to watch the screen in front of her. Chrisjen Avasarala was named Secretary-General again. A tenacious woman that mentioned the good and law-abiding people of the Belt while declaring martial law for Luna and Earth in the same breath.

It was another remarkable and unique moment she was living through. In the middle of. Not just reporting at the periphery and hoping to learn about afterwards. But actively shaping it.

Monica was witness to a historic message that was set to dominate the news cycle for weeks on end. Getting analyzed for the smallest hint of insincerity by Belters and Martians alike. Even Earthers.

//

All of this was happening around her and all Monica could do was think “Sergeant Draper is near.”

//

Monica swallows down any hesitation as she touches the screen in front of her. The image fades to black and her feet are moving.

“Hey, Sergeant.” She hears the hesitation in her voice and tries to barrel through it. Hoping she sounds confident instead of weak.

“You know about guns and PDCs and torpedoes and things like that?” Her voice sounds so unsure, even to her own ears. She is nervous. She wonders if she is as transparent as she feels.

Sergeant Draper turns around and stares at her.

Monica stops. Did she forget to breathe? It feels like that. The way those big, sad eyes are turned towards her. It is a hidden, wondrous thing. To see it behind the tough exterior. The Martian Marine. It is barely there, and it does things to Monica. It is a thread she wants to pull and pull until they both unravel.

Instead, she settles for that encouraging nod and imperceptible smile that flashes on the corners of the taller woman’s mouth. Monica swallows down that nervousness before continuing. The feeble excuse she thought of feels paper thin. Translucent.

Desire is a funny thing.

It is a desperate thing.

Monica needs to get closer to this Martian woman that commands a room with her mere presence. And yet, she also wants to hide away.

She would run. If not for the quiet response she gets.

“Mm-hmm.” It is a small confirmation that she should continue.

So, she does.

“Well, it’s a load of complicated jargon to me, and I could use your help deciphering it.” Monica tilts her head towards the nearest terminal.

She tries to look serious. Professional.

Sharp eyes take her in. Sadness gone. Hidden behind an analytical gaze that is assessing her. She feels herself blush as Sergeant Draper’s eyes land on her cleavage twice before looking over at the terminal and back at her face again.

Monica wonders if she has been found out. Hopes that the way she was studied by Sergeant Draper means that the attraction, the draw she feels towards the other woman is mutual.

She is about to step closer. Drop the whole thing and just kiss the other woman. When the marine looks towards the terminal again and opens her mouth to ask a routine question.

“Sure. What do you got?”

She tries to hide her disappointment. The loss of a moment that could have been. Monica pulls up the logs she had questions on. Or feigned she had questions on. She had already asked the others about this. But, she was a reporter and they were all nothing without multiple sources to check and double check the facts.

//

“These are the logs from our battle with the Zmeya.” She starts. Trying to remember what she was pretending to care about before she felt like a silly teenager with a crush.

“You did all this before taking on five enemies?” Sergeant Draper stares at her in a way that makes her feel brave. Impressive. Like she could take on the entirety of Marco Inaros’ Free Navy once again. It makes her feel seen as she thinks of herself. Intrepid reporter.

It draws out an involuntary “yeah” from her lips.

It is soft.

The opposite of fearless and strong.

Monica had wanted to sound different. More battle hardened. Experienced. Deserving of that look.

Instead, she had said _yeah_.

Sergeant Draper looked around and mentioned that it was a tough little ship. Her eyes wandered around the Rocinante, but they strayed towards her.

//

“What are you looking for?” She asked her. It felt… heavy. Purposeful. A simple question that was loaded with meaning.

“I’m not sure.” Monica answers. Lost in trying to suss out that sadness hidden beneath steel.

//

Sergeant Draper nods towards the chair. Asking for permission before making herself comfortable.

Monica nods and feels her face heat up again. She wishes her body would stop reacting to this other woman. She was clearly was more interested in the tactics of how they managed to fight off so many ships than what could be… and yet. Monica had felt that pull towards her.

Like artificial gravity.

Only stronger.

More constant.

Something real.

Then it was gone.

//

Monica takes a deep breath before leaning over Sergeant Draper’s left shoulder. Wanting to zoom in and show her something on the terminal. It was then that her breast grazes the other woman. It could have been voluntary. Or involuntary. All Monica knows is that when her brain catches up with what her body is doing. The pleasure of feeling herself touch the Martian. She freezes. Unsure of what her next move should be.

//

“I don’t know if you meant to touch me like that.” Sergeant Draper’s voice is low. Dangerous. Husky and inviting. While also serving as a warning as she says. “If you get closer, I don’t know what will happen.”

Sergeant Draper is looking at the screen.

Monica wonders if she imagined it.

There is no change in the other woman.

She tilts her shoulder closer as she pushes her body down. Testing a theory. Pulling on a thread.

Sergeant Draper shifts her body. Shoulders pulled back against the chair. Losing contact with her. Monica feels crushed. If only for a fraction of a second. Before a warm hand is resting on her rib cage. Another is on her waist.

A warning and an invitation.

“I told you. If you got closer. I didn’t know what would happen.” She repeats. Tilting her body towards Monica and closing her eyes. Trying to regain control of herself. Fingers twitching against her suit. Scratching away at her resistance. A flimsy thing already.

It sucks the air right out of her lungs.

Monica feels the mag boots anchoring her to this very universe. Keeping her feet solidly against the ship’s floor.

They are the only solid thing about her. With useless legs. Unsteady. Weak.

Like her heart.

Hungry for a woman like Sergeant Draper.

She licks her lips. They are dry and so is her mouth.

“Mm-hmm.” Is all she manages to get out before those piercing eyes open again. They are clouded with wanting. Hesitation. Loss. Monica wonders if there had ever been anything more beautiful than those eyes.

Having hopped around Sol system. Through the ring, and back. She can be sure that there has never been. There will never be, anything more lovely than those sad and steely eyes. Especially when they are taking her in.

“Is there anywhere you don’t rush headfirst into?”

The question throws Monica off for a moment. Unexpected. She smiles. Soft. Steps into Sergeant Draper’s personal space. Between her legs. Before she mirrors that same question at the Martian.

“Is there anywhere _you_ don’t rush into?”

Sergeant Draper clenches her jaw. It is incredibly sexy.

“Only where I’m not wanted.” She answers. Vulnerable. Honest.

Monica reaches her hands up to cup that beautiful face. Sculpted from the red sands of Mars. A monument to a planet that from nothing built itself into an empire of war and weaponry. Deadly. And yet, so delicate. So graceful.

“I highly doubt that.” She answers. Voice light. Teasing.

“I mean it.” Tragic and honest brown eyes stare up at her. “If you don’t want this. Just say the word and I stop.”

Monica holds her breath. Stopping the furthest thing from her mind.

“If you say no. We can go back to pretending you wanted to know something you’re probably an expert at through methodical research.” Monica blushes at Sergeant Draper’s words. Fully seen as more than just an annoyance or an afterthought. Seen for the things she hides behind the polish of a neatly edited video.

“We can pretend that this is just about information and spend the next month or so, traveling back to Luna as a source and a reporter. Nothing has to happen.” Sergeant Draper offers.

In this moment, she wanted to be brave. Monica wanted to be known for not hesitating. For putting herself at risk. She wanted to be anything but a coward that hid behind safe hallways. She looked down. Smiled. Hoping she could steal some bravery from the woman whose face she held so tenderly.

She traced strong cheekbones with shy fingertips.

How could such a person exist? The perfect embodiment of the Martian dream. Strength through sacrifice.

Her fingers stopped at the base of Sergeant Draper’s neck. Nails scratching lightly.

//

_Unafraid._

//

The word echoes inside her heart. She feels adrift. Lost.

Unlike the woman sitting in front of her. Who is so sure of what she believes in that she runs towards gunfire. Rushing into perilous situations without second guessing herself. A woman who stood against her friends to defend her plant. And then stood against the might of the Martian marines to get at the truth.

Bleeding out and unafraid of death.

Only fearing for her friend’s safety.

//

_Unafraid._

//

Monica leans down and presses a small kiss to closed lips. Hoping that what words she had forgotten, she could be made known through action.

//

The kiss is short lived.

//

Monica feels rejected.

Eyes closed she sighs against unresponsive lips. Leans back. Regretting everything.

Feeling small.

Foolish.

//

_Afraid._

//

She opens her eyes.

//

The disappointment vanishes.

Replaced by eyes so dark and expansive that they can span galaxies. Unknown civilizations. Dear god. Monica could spend eons exploring the depths of those eyes and come up with more to uncover. They were no longer holding anything back from her.

And still. Monica lacked the words that could explain the wondrous, fragile things hidden beneath those eyes.

A flash of steel came over the other woman. She was Sergeant Draper again. Fierce determination as she brought their lips together again.

//

Monica would have thought that a woman made of violence and crushed red dust would have been rough. Untamed like the surface of Mars. Unwilling to bend and compromise until something was dug out from the depths of that planet.

Instead, she was soft and all consuming. Refreshing. Sweet. Tender and somehow intoxicating. She was the sea. Her touch was all enveloping. Dancing across Monica’s body. Everywhere. Except where she needed it the most.

“Please. Sergeant” Monica whispered breathlessly against pliant lips. “I want you… I want you to…”

“Bobbie. Just Bobbie.” Was the answer she got. Before she learned that she didn’t need any more words. She had been brave. And she had won. She had won over this goddess of a woman. Who pulled her forward. Holding her securely in strong arms.

She groans. Monica had never been with anyone built like this. Sculped muscle and hesitant touches combined with so much wanting. Monica presses her body impossibly closer and they both moan.

//

“I can’t…” Bobbie tells her.

“Don’t stop.” Monica begs. Grinding down. Wanting more. Desperate to feel everything.

“I can’t.” Bobbie tries again. “Here.”

“No.” Monica commands.

Bobbie groans. Bites Monica’s lower lip and licks it before she presses a soft kiss against half opened lips. Wanting to voice a protest before it turns into an undignified yelp.

Monica is lifted off the ground without any effort. She wonders if her mag boots had been activated at all. How weakly they gave in against the iron will and taut muscles of a very formidable woman that could be so pliant and stubborn at the same time.

//

//

They make it into one of their quarters. Monica is unsure whose room it is. They all look identical. Two single beds stacked on top of each other. Small table near them. Crash couches pushed up against the wall.

Bobbie’s neck is a pattern of splattered light pink and purples. Running down into her collar bone. The only place Monica had managed to get at with trembling hands and lust weighing down her movements.

“Last chance to stop.” Bobbie warns her as the door whooshes shut behind them. Hand waving in front of it. Turning the green light red. Locking them inside.

“Really?” Monica asks. Voice low and breathy. Desperate to know how far she can push the other woman before she becomes an unstoppable force. Just like the one she met in a metallic hallway full of danger and flying debris.

“No.” Bobbie reassures her. Soft. Even as she pulls off a boot and drops it to the ground. The metallic twang as the magnet engages and it stands upright has Monica grinding against Bobbie’s stomach.

“Fuck.” She answers. At a loss for words. Incredibly attracted to the casual show of strength as her second mag boot drops to the floor and locks on.

“And if I don’t want to stop?” Monica asks, hands running up Bobbie’s head. Trying and failing to get the other woman’s hair out of the functional hairstyle that kept it away from curious fingers.

Bobbie chuckles. Fingers covering Monica’s own and easily undoing the practical bun atop her head. Hair floating around her like a halo.

“Well, if you don’t stop, I supposed we’re gonna make a ruckus.”

Monica laughs at that. Eyes crinkling at the corners as she takes in the pure joy of such a ridiculous and perfect word to describe what might happen between them.

“A ruckus?” She teases. Face soft as she holds Bobbie’s face between her hands. Wanting to memorize the other woman’s face in this very moment. Full of wonder, playfulness and unguarded yearning.

Bobbie rolls her eyes and smiles. Warm. Joyful.

“A disturbance. A commotion, if you will.” Monica laughs.

She had expected bravery.

Grunted words.

Silence.

She had not anticipated the wit that sprouted so effortlessly from the woman that described herself as nothing more than a simple tool sent in by smarter people to kill things.

//

“Time to make a ruckus?” Monica asks. The smile she wanted to aim down at Bobbie lost. All humor sucked out of the room. Up and away into the recyclers. Turned into a building and breathless kind of wanting between them. Bobbie is looking at her like she sees all of her. Like she knows that Monica is trying to hide between jokes and words, so she does not leave herself open to scrutiny. To being known. Even while offering herself up.

//

“You sure?” Bobbie checks in again. Soft. Even with coiled anticipation tensing up the muscles of her back. Holding back. Holding herself still in the middle of the room.

Monica feels a certain fondness for the care this other woman has shown. For all the times she had tried to bait a potential source with the promise of sex to throw them off, she had never lost herself this way.

It was intoxicating.

It was terrifying.

It was something she wanted to stop.

//

Monica knew if she went through with this, she would not leave the Rocinante the same person that had boarded it months before.

//

Monica nodded. Finally understanding what Bobbie had seen. The hesitation inside her. Pulling at her. Desperate to remain hidden behind the screens and holodecks she was more comfortable operating in.

“Please?” She asked. Shoulders dropping. Relaxed. Scared. Ready for this moment to begin.

//

Bobbie turned from hesitant woman to smoldering hero in a flash. Fire burning beneath her veins as she unzipped her suit from beneath her collarbone to her upper left thigh in one fluid motion. The top of her suit was floating close to her back so quickly that Monica wonders if the other woman’s hands ever left her own body. Still feeling the steady warmth coming from them.

She slid her hands down. Hands molding themselves against muscular and scarred skin. Healed battle and training wounds alike. Constellations against taut skin.

More strings to pull at.

Another series of mysteries to unravel.

She wanted Bobbie to give her every bit of herself. Of her mouth. Of her body. Of the things she could not say. Secrets held behind sad eyes. Like an Earther dam.

Bobbie pulled off the black tank top and tucked it into an internal loop of her suit. Practiced ease giving way to abs that made themselves known only when the Martian drew deep breaths.

//

“No.” Monica whispered. Fingers reaching out to touch what was once hidden. Now open for her to explore whichever way she pleased.

“No?” Bobbie asked, confused. Hands instantly off Monica.

//

“Oh god. No…” She shook her head. Failing to find the words to describe how utterly unprepared she was to see Bobbie without her suit on. Never had there been such a soft and wonderous woman, so ready to please her and desperate to follow her orders while refusing to display all the rage and power hidden beneath warm skin and strong muscles.

“I mean.” Monica licked her lips. Head fuzzy. Fingers failing to catch her zipper the first three or four tries. Desperate to take her suit off and lay down beneath ties and covers with this divinely constructed creature before her.

“No. It’s not fair that you look like that and I can’t decide if I want to trace your abs with my tongue or have you fuck me against the wall first.” She answers. Words unfiltered by her analytical mind.

She wants to get at the core of Bobbie and the other woman is too damn stupid and noble to fuck her roughly against every surface of this stupid room.

//

“All right.”

Those are the last words Bobbie tells her before deft fingers have Monica halfway out of her black suit. Bunching up around her knees. Back pressed against the cold metal wall. Lost breath against her mouth. Pulled right out of her in the form of a moan as Bobbie thrusts two fingers inside her. Moving her body up and down against Monica’s own.

Her fingers dig into a back made out of knotted muscle. She tries to pull Bobbie against her while pushing her away. Torn between her desperation for more contact and her strung out body, already raw from having come undone so quickly.

The other woman, so attuned to her already, stopped. Breathed heavily against her neck. Monica closed her eyes and rested her face against Bobbie’s neck. Scandalized. Embarrassed at how fast it had all happened. They were mostly still in their suits. Floating around them like a bad college party bathroom hookup. Her skin was red. Flushed.

She took a deep breath and relaxed. Inhaled the way the MCRN standard shampoo clung to Bobbie just a little bit differently than it did her own skin. It smelled nicer on her.

“This is not what I wanted our first time to be like.” She finally admitted.

Bobbie laughed and carefully maneuvered them towards the beds. One arm tight against Monica’s waist. Wet fingers spread across quickly cooling skin. Her other arm down below them. Removing mag boots and suit. Partially stuffing it inside one of the boots before loosening the straps on the bottom bunk.

“How about we try this again… this time we can take as long as you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted a short, one shot, and instead I get this. Why can’t I ever hyperfixate on established ships that only need two sentence fics?


	2. The New Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess this is a series now. So. Well. Fuck. There is that. Otherwise this is just a continuation of the whole Summertime sadness vibe I am cultivating with this fic. But in space. This chapter is just gay angst about being in love and not wanting to be in love but also plot sometimes happens in there. I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, fuck. I just wanted a short thing, and this stupid story won’t leave my head. So now we all have to fucking be tortured by it.

//

**_The Terrible Weight Of Being Fully Known And Loved_ **

//

While traveling from Mars to Luna, Monica was staring at her hand terminal while Bobbie slept beside her. She wanted to make sense of what she saw.

The other woman woke up. Sighed and pulled Monica closer to her. It made her smile. The way that Bobbie could be simultaneously frustrated with her and filled with admiration for her work.

“Please go to sleep. I can hear you thinking and it’s annoying.” She said in a sleep rough voice.

“You know I can’t sleep. I can’t do anything until I figure this out.” Monica told her. Distracted.

Bobbie rubbed her eyes against the pillow. Groaned and looked over her shoulder. “You already know you’re right. What else do you need to figure out?” She asked. Frustrated. Curious. Wanting to understand why it mattered so much to Monica.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Monica gave her an out. Knowing that Bobbie was uninterested in the answer itself. Only in why the answer mattered to Monica. It was nice.

But it was also annoying.

Bobbie was smart… no. That was an understatement. Bobbie was a brilliant tactician that came up with solutions on the spot. Even while getting shot at, she kept her composure and figured out how to get from Point A to Point B in the quickest way possible. She saw that firsthand during the slow zone incident. A stupid name reporters had given to what they had lived through inside the ring. She was witness to this again during their short trip to Mars.

The problem was that Bobbie’s solutions were often immediate and inelegant things that came at the expense of walls, elevators and even her own life.

Monica loved that about her. She saw a problem and she fixed it.

But she also hated that side of her.

Bobbie did not care about other possibilities. She cared about survival. She only cared about what was useful in the moment. Monica cared about the why. She wanted to know why a missile would be fired and miss. And Bobbie would sometimes hide behind her whole “I am just a simple foot soldier” persona to deflect from the fact that she simply did not care about an answer she couldn’t take part in shaping. Of changing the outcome.

It didn’t matter to Bobbie why the missile had been fired that way. It had just become a fact and Bobbie had accepted it.

She moved on.

Monica could not.

It was a thread she kept on pulling but instead of finding answers. Instead of finding truth. She just found more thread.

Yes, it was a fact. And yes, Bobbie had accepted it. But Monica refused to. She needed to grasp at the truth. To know the why behind it.

Monica pulled at threads and puzzle pieces so she could see the picture within the picture. She liked the truth. But the thing she liked more was the understanding that it brought. The clarity it gave her.

And she didn’t want to drag Bobbie into this because she knew that the other woman slept better if she could pretend that everything was fine. If she could just say she was a simple soldier following orders.

//

Bobbie sat up. Pulling Monica up as she did so. Cradling her against her body. She pressed a kiss on her temple and sighed.

“No.” Bobbie admitted.

Monica’s shoulders slumped at this. Knowing that Bobbie might not want to know more. Hating that she would put this on the other woman just because she couldn’t sleep without knowing what was on the other side of that thread.

“But, just because I’m not sure, doesn’t mean that I won’t make a good sounding board… you can talk to me… even if I’m not as smart as you… even if I won’t get to the same places you do when we both hear the same information… you can always talk to me.” Bobbie’s voice was gentle. Knowing.

Monica cried into her lover’s neck at this admission.

Bobbie held her tighter and rocked them back and forth. Monica hiccupped. Overwhelmed. She turned her body into Bobbie’s. Letting herself be held. Be comforted.

She was so tired of always fighting against people’s inability to trust her. To see her. To listen to her.

This is why she didn’t know how to respond to someone who was so good at doing just the opposite of that.

Bobbie was brave. She was noble. She was so, so good.

Monica was unequipped to handle it. To handle liking someone like Bobbie.

//

Bobbie stroked her hair and kissed the top of her hair.

//

Monica put her hand over Bobbie’s heart. It was a steady rhythm. Only interrupted when Monica’s hand moved. She smiled. Bobbie’s body. Her mind. It was always so receptive to hers. So responsive.

She could not keep doing this.

“I can’t” She admitted. Voice tearful.

“I’ll show you how.” Bobbie answered. Confident.

Monica cried harder.

“What if I can’t learn how?” She pulled Bobbie closer. Hands and arms no longer in-between them.

Heart to heart. Body to body.

“You’re one of the smartest people I know. And you’re stubborn as hell. I’m sure you can learn how to. If you really wanted to.” Bobbie admitted. Encouraging. Hopeful.

Monica wiped at her eyes and put her tearstained hands on top of Bobbie’s cheeks. Eyes open. Trusting. Devastated. This was one problem she could not find a quick solution to.

“Please?” She begged. Not knowing what she was asking for. Just needing Bobbie.

“You sure?” The other woman asked.

Monica shook her head. “No.” She admitted. Roles reversed. Now she was unsure if she could handle this.

“Okay.” Bobbie kissed her. Gentle. Monica shook. Crying silently.

“We can always stop.” Bobbie reassured her. Monica smiled sadly. Poor, beautiful Bobbie. She was always so perfect. So gentle with her. She could not be with someone like this. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“And if I don’t want to stop?” She asked. Voice cracking.

“Then you have to keep your eyes open and look at me.” She tells her. Monica’s eyes open. Hurt. Confused.

“If you don’t want to stop, that’s my only condition.” Monica turns away. She closes her eyes and breathes again. She hates that Bobbie is doing this to her.

To them.

She wants to hide. She wants to pretend that this is just a warm body until they get to her real goal. But she can’t. Not anymore. Not since the incident in Mars.

Bobbie is so many things and she could be one more. But Monica is scared. She does not know if she is deserving.

She is selfish. Needy and wanting. But she doesn’t know if she can be as good.

Monica opens her eyes and looks at Bobbie’s. How could someone filled with such violence; such perfect and sorrowful eyes... also be filled with such compassion and endless love? Monica hated that she could have fallen into bed with someone simple and unbothered by the core of who she was. And instead, she chose the Sergeant with the sad eyes and brave heart.

Isn’t this just what she wanted?

The one person she knew would never turn back from a fight. The one person who was filled with endless mysteries. Who refused to let her go. The woman who wanted to hold onto her just like this. Like she was precious. Worth something more than another story…

It made her sad.

It broke her heart.

It made up her mind.

“Okay.” Monica finally came to the conclusion that she should have come to days before.

Bobbie smiled in that small, sad way that told her she had hoped for this. But had not actually expected it to happen.

Not without a battle.

She had gotten her fight.

And she had won.

She kissed Monica. Eyes closed. Monica let Bobbie give her the break she needed to gather herself.

Bobbie pulled away and touched her face. Monica opened her eyes and smiled. Tears floating around them. Towards a recycler.

Bobbie ground herself against Monica’s leg as she wrung out an orgasm from her with her fingers. Monica reached up and grabbed Bobbie’s face. Wanting the other woman to look at her while she did this. While she made love to her.

“Oh.” Monica’s realization hit her right before her orgasm. Her eyes widened and scrunched close.

Involuntary.

She opened them again and cried.

Overjoyed.

She had not wanted to see it before.

But she saw it now.

The way it really was.

“I love you.” She told Bobbie. Laughing. Overwhelmed by the truth of it all.

Bobbie smiled down at her fondly. “I know.”

Monica laughed harder. Elated by the truth.

“You love me too.” Another fact.

Bobbie’s smile crinkled her eyes until they nearly disappeared. “I do.”

Monica kissed her. Verifiably true. She loved Bobbie and Bobbie loved her.

//

Maybe it was too fast. Maybe she should not. But she could not stop herself from loving someone like Bobbie.

Just like Bobbie could not stop herself from loving someone like her.

Even if she did not want to see it.

//

The vacuum of space was cold. Life was rough out here. Death always a possibility.

She had protected herself and her heart for so long that she forgot that sometimes things can happen beyond your control. Even the truth and facts cannot help you hide from it.

From someone like Bobbie.

Monica sighed into Bobbie’s mouth as the other woman worked another orgasm out of her exhausted and overwrought body.

She hated when she was right.

She knew that meeting Bobbie would mean she would never be the same after. And she was not.

She knew that she would not leave the Rocinante the same person that had boarded it months ago. And now she could never be anyone else but this new person that was loved and in love.

She hated when she was right. But she was elated with the clarity it brought. The truth. The knowing.

//

“Are you still willing to listen?” Monica asked.

Bobbie smiled and nodded. “Can’t say I’ll be much use. But I want to listen.”

Monica kissed her. She hated that Bobbie didn’t care about the why. The picture within the picture. But she loved that Bobbie allowed her to be the type of reporter she needed to be. That she let Monica come to conclusions in her own time. To see the bigger picture. To hide. To love.

She wondered what mysteries lay hidden beneath those sad eyes. The ones that shined, only for a moment, just for her. Before she pulled back and hid that part of herself away. Closed it for everyone else.

Except for her.

She had always allowed Monica to see beyond.

Rewarded Monica for her curiosity.

For her tenacity.

So how could she not want to do the same for the woman she loved?

//

Monica nodded.

//

These were the facts. She loved Bobbie. Bobbie loved her. And she still didn’t understand why that missile could misfire when everything else had been so perfectly orchestrated.

Marco Inaros was a man constantly underestimated. And always rewarded for this.

He had to have a plan.

//

“I don’t understand how the missile could have disappeared.” Monica admitted.

Bobbie shrugged. “Then it didn’t.” Monica groaned. How could she come to such a strong and life altering realization like knowing she loved someone and still want to strangle them for saying something as thoughtless as this?

Bobbie rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why it bothers you that you’re right.” Monica was about to open her mouth to argue.

Bobbie kept on talking. “Stop looking at it like the problem is the missile. That’s the solution. You know that missiles don’t miss. They don’t misfire. Not like this. Not with Martian technology.”

Monica laughed. “Really?” She asked.

The other woman kissed her. “Stop being an ass.”

“Why?” Monica asked. Wondering why she should stop being an ass when Bobbie was not being serious.

“Because you saw what I loaded. You know what type of technology they have. What they bought.” Bobbie’s voice was low. Dangerous. Angry.

Monica’s eyes widened.

“That’s why I know you’re right. The problem isn’t that a missile misfired or suddenly dropped out and disappeared. That’s the solution. The problem is that you don’t know what they were actually aiming for. And we won’t know until they want us to.” Bobbie told her. Eyes dark. Clouded. Like she was also just understanding that there was something more. And it was uncomfortable. Because she couldn’t change the outcome. It had already happened. It was already a fact. It was not worth worrying about it.

“Fuck.” Monica says as closes her eyes and realizes that Bobbie is right.

As she learns why it is sometimes easier to only worry about a solution when there is just a problem. To ignore the things you cannot change or control.

Because Monica would always lose sleep over this and Bobbie couldn’t afford to do that. She had to sleep and she had to be ready for battle. Why worry when someone else would tell you if things really were the way they should be?

Then again.

Bobbie was a terrible liar. And a defector. And a person that worried about truth and justice and honor.

Monica loved Bobbie because she was brave. She was unyielding. And because she was a constant mystery. Hiding behind the simplicity of a soldier that follows orders. While refusing to follow the ones that are wrong. The ones that are unjust.

Monica loves Bobbie because she is. At the core of things. She is just like her. She wants the truth. No matter the cost.

And Bobbie has constantly paid a high price to get at the truth.

So, Monica pulls Bobbie down. Settles on top of her. Lets the other woman hold her as Monica reassures her that she is right. That she is going to drive herself crazy with too much thinking. That they should go to bed.

Monica wants the truth. But she also wants Bobbie.

And she can’t be another obstacle between what Bobbie wants and what she gets.

She closes her eyes and lets Bobbie fall asleep. Content in knowing that she helped Monica. Without knowing that she also crippled her. Now there were consequences to finding the truth. A price higher than getting shot at and nearly killed.

Monica is a coward. And she is in love. She wants the truth, and she wants Bobbie. She hopes that when the time comes, she is brave enough to go after love instead of the truth. But only time will tell…

//

**_The Meeting Within A Party_ **

//

Monica resented being iced out of that meeting.

//

She resented James’ dismissal even more.

It was a constant between them.

Monica held a puzzle piece. She was trying to fit it. And James Holden would put his hand through the picture. Dissipating it and expecting Monica to stop asking questions.

She wondered how Naomi could stand it.

Monica felt Bobbie’s gentle presence behind her. Reassuring. Strong. And she understood why.

So, she tried again.

She laid everything out simply for him. Told him why it was important. Her theory. James holden seemed intent in not caring. Even while Naomi told her that it was a possibility that the protomolecule was within that one missile.

The thread had caught onto something. It came back with something huge and still. It was not enough.

//

**_The Unfortunate Break-in Incident_ **

//

Monica could not sleep.

It was one of those nights where her thoughts were racing, and she was pulling on a million different threads. Testing out theories. Trying to see what fit and how. Coming up empty.

She needed air.

Metaphorically speaking.

Bobbie’s warm body was perfect next to her. She slept soundly. No doubt aided by the copious amount of expensive liquor they both took too much of.

Monica wanted to drink as a salve for her wounded ego. The knowledge that she was not important enough to be in the same room as her girlfriend and her friends, while also knowing that something was wrong was too much for her.

The party had continued without them returning. It had been late when Bobbie came in.

Monica had been torn between wanting to ask a million questions to get at the core of what she said. And wanting to keep this out of their bedroom.

“You were right. You are so beautiful and so smart and so right and we are all so fucked.”

She couldn’t get those words out of her head. She was also still a little drunk.

//

Monica took a shower. Put on the same outfit as before and went back to the party.

Well… not exactly to the party.

//

She stole a bottle of the most expensive Earther tequila she could. The type that Amos could not shut up about. And she exchanged it for a key.

Monica smiled and snuck into offices just outside of the ones that were too heavily guarded for her to break into by herself.

She turned on terminals and started typing in the types of commands that she should not be caught knowing.

She was so focused on finding out what the meeting had been about. The truth behind Bobbie’s words, that she had not heard the door whoosh open behind her. She had been so caught up in her head that when the bag came over her eyes and the shock took her down, she was more upset about the surprise than she was about the kidnapping.

//

**_A Disastrous Introduction_ **

//

The hood is removed as she is unceremoniously shoved into a room by UN military police.

Secretary-General Chrisjen Avasarala is standing in an opulent office. Pouring out two glasses of expensive liquor.

She thanks the men that brought her there and asks Monica to sit down in a way that the younger woman knows is a command disguised as an invitation.

//

They exchange superficial pleasantries and Monica grits her teeth. If this woman wanted it to be an interrogation. She could also afford to answer some questions.

So, she asks Secretary-General Avasarala what is really going on. Why she was being followed and detained and instead of being tossed into a prison, she was brought here. To this office. As if it were a meeting amongst friends.

The older woman smiles pleasantly. The type of smile she has seen on a screen. Not real but not entirely awful to look at.

“Well, my dear. What happened is that I was just testing you.”

Monica is offended and quick to react. “Go fuck yourself, Madame Secretary-General.” She tells her as she drinks down half her glass. The ice clinks against the sides and Monica grits her teeth. Angry at the unnecessary luxury.

Secretary-General Avasarala laughs. Amused. Like Monica is a child that told a funny joke.

“You know. I was testing a theory. And I was right…” She gloats. Satisfied at her conclusion.

Monica looks up from her staring contest with the ice. Confused. What theory? How is she a part of this? Of any of this.

“Did you know that former MMC Gunnery Sergeant Roberta Draper is a dear friend of mine?” She asked.

Secretary-General Avasarala continued. Knowing that she had the other woman’s attention. “Now she is my new liaison. A Martian delegate I trust.” Monica narrowed her eyes.

“So, imagine my surprise when after the meeting we had. The one you tried to charm your way into but couldn’t. That meeting. Well, a funny thing happened. She brought you up. As if you could be fucking useful.” Monica’s blood boils at these words. The dismissal of her. Not wanting to hear how much faith Bobbie has in her. Not ready to hear it just yet.

“Well, not in those words. You know our Bobbie. Always a woman of few words when there are right hooks to disperse.” Secretary-General Avasarala laughs at her own joke. Delighted in the way that Monica stiffens at the words. _Our Bobbie_.

 _“She knows.”_ Monica thinks. Secretary-General Avasarala nods. As if she had heard her thoughts. How even if they had arrived separately, the other woman already knew who she was to Bobbie.

“Yes, that’s right. Our Bobbie thinks some fucking third-rate tabloid jumper could be useful. To me. Instead of an annoyance. Or at worse, a fucking vulture.” Secretary-General Avasarala narrows her eyes and watches Monica carefully. Assessing her.

Monica downs the rest of her drink and some of the melted ice. She crushes it between her teeth. Trying to crush away the anger she feels. She could say something. Or she could stay quiet and let the other woman continue to fill the silence she seems so anxious to drive away with her words.

“At first, I had my doubts. You know. Giving Bobbie’s little girlfriend such an important role… why it reeks of nepotism… especially when everybody knows that my Martian Liaison is completely infatuated with you.” Monica narrows her eyes. She wants to insult this woman. She wants to punch her. She wants her to keep talking and she also wants to know what kind of fucking incredible alcohol she just drunk.

She really should not have been drinking on top of her drinking.

She was sloppy. And now she had been caught.

And she was also very confused.

Monica had never felt so out of her depth as she did now.

Secretary-General Avasarala kept watching her. Monica closed her eyes and exhaled. Brought the empty glass to her lips and tipped it so the last of the ice would float into her mouth.

“Bobbie insisted that you were more than just a reporter. I think she was right.” She confesses. Definite. As if it were a fact. As if she could have ascertained all that from a few failed insults and a goddamn drink.

“You really are more than just anyone’s girlfriend… but most importantly, Bobbie thinks you could be a champion for truth. A beacon of honesty in these dark times. As it were. Whatever the fuck that means.” Secretary-General Avasarala tells Monica as she steps closer and grabs the glass from her fist.

“Same?” She asks. As if this were a social visit.

Monica fakes a smile and nods.

Secretary-General Avasarala pours her a drink with more ice and walks back to Monica. Handing her a glass of dark Earther liquor. She leans back against the desk.

“You want to know what Bobbie said? She told me ‘I’m a shooter. Not a spy. Or a diplomat. Monica is smart. She won’t just blab things to the universe without at least verifying if they’re true or not.’” Secretary-General Avasarala laughed. Looking delighted at the brilliant assessment Bobbie made.

Monica tried to fight a smile. “She didn’t mention James Holden by name, but judging by that look on your face, you know exactly who she was referring to. You know why too. That the boy has no poker face. Even if he has learned to hold his tongue a little bit better.”

Monica lets herself smile at the admission. Maybe James Holden had not made it out of her shit list just yet. Maybe he should have just listened to her.

//

The other woman smiles.

Monica stays silent.

Secretary-General Avasarala does the same.

And so, they wait.

//

And wait.

//

Monica takes a drink from her cup and Secretary-General Avasarala does the same.

//

 _“Well. Fuck.”_ She thinks.

Monica sighs and asks what she knows the other woman wants her to. “If I’m here and not in jail. I am guessing that I passed whatever your test is, but you still don’t know whether or not I can be useful in the same way a gun is useful to a soldier. Just an object that can do what you want it to do without turning against you.”

Secretary-General Avasarala smiles. Victorious. She takes a gulp of her drink. Her eyes light up. “She was right.”

Monica crosses an arm in front of her. The one not holding her drink. She is annoyed by this woman. How could Bobbie love someone so absolutely infuriating?

Secretary-General Avasarala pouts. “Oh, come on. Don’t fucking be like that. Bobbie trusts you and that is enough for me.”

Monica stares at her and lifts an eyebrow. Doubting this was true. Why test her if she had already won Bobbie over?

“The test was not about whether Bobbie trusts you or not. It was whether I could trust you with my family.” Secretary-General Avasarala finally admits.

Monica’s eyes widen. The Secretary-General spoke as if she understood exactly what Monica was thinking as she reached her conclusions.

Monica’s face scrunches up. She has so many questions. She needs to know. So many answers she must understand. Connect. Before she can open her mouth and ask what she meant, Secretary-General Avasarala continues. But not in the direction Monica thought she was going.

//

“I am sure that by now you have heard about how we escaped from the Guanshiyin. It was Jules-Pierre Mao’s little pleasure yacht. A fucking trap I walked into. I am politician you see. And sometimes I think I am safer than I am. This was one of those times. I thought I could outmaneuver him.” Secretary-General Avasarala admits.

“I heard some of that.” Monica says quietly. Keeping how much she did not know to herself.

Secretary-General Avasarala stares at her. Her face flinches into the ghost of a smile. Sad. Understanding. “Bobbie is not one to boast. She often forgets how extraordinary she is. She has a goal, and she doesn’t think about the cost to herself. All Bobbie cares about is how to get everyone else out alive.”

Monica’s heart beats faster.

It was one thing to love a mystery.

It was another to have her laid bare in a way you recognize. In a way that is both true and not true. Because she understands, both logically and by experiencing it firsthand, just how brave Bobbie is. How selfless she could be. It is enough to crack her heart wide open.

But.

To be standing here. In front of someone like the Secretary-General. To talk about Bobbie in such an intimate way… it feels too overwhelming.

She thinks of Bobbie’s sad eyes. The way they can know her so intimately. The way she can be read so easily. And she wonders if that is an ability she could pass on by touch to someone like Secretary-General Avasarala. Because she is saying things, she is understanding of things that Monica often sees others ignore.

They are blind.

Bobbie is not.

Bobbie sees all of her.

And now Secretary-General Avasarala sees her too.

Secretary-General Avasarala’s eyes take her in. She waits until the pounding in her head clears. Then she continues.

“She is the reason I am alive. She saved me. But most importantly, she saved Cotyar Ghazi.”

“Your bodyguard?” Monica asks, confused as to why he was more important than the Secretary-General herself, when they had both been in equal amounts of danger.

“Yes. And no.” Secretary-General Avasarala says as she leans against her desk. She looks towards the window. It is pitch black. She is lost in a memory. In a moment.

She looks back towards Monica. Smiles weakly and keeps on talking. “He was my bodyguard, but he was also the last piece of my son.”

“Charanpal.” Monica fills in. A reflex.

Secretary-General Avasarala smiles. Small. Genuine. Not a political mask. Just a mother, happy to hear her son’s name being mentioned. Even by someone that never knew him. Only of him due to his relationship to Secretary-General Avasarala.

“Yes. He always carried my son’s death as his responsibility. They were close and after Charanpal died, he came to me. Desperate to make amends.” She pauses.

Monica was confused. “So, you used him as a bodyguard?” It was hard trying to follow a thread only Madam Secretary-General Avasarala seemed to know where it ended. Where it led.

“No. I used him as a spy.”

Monica gasps. Unsure as to why Madam Secretary-General was admitting this. Especially to a reporter. A drunk reporter but a reporter just the same.

“He liked the work. He was very good at it. Our grief and inability to forgive ourselves for the role we both played in my son’s death kept us linked. And then, we got on that yacht and Bobbie saved my life and his.” Monica’s heart beats faster at the older woman’s admission.

Aching in understanding.

“He was the last part I had left of my son. And he fucking blew himself up so that the protomolecule wouldn’t make it out of the Agatha King. He was an idiot. I wanted to talk him down. Even as I saw him infected with the eerie blue glow of the protomolecule. I wanted to save him. And he knew he could not be saved. He was a fucking idiot because he knew that I could not be trusted to make the right choice. To choose humanity over him. So, he took the choice away from me and he blew himself up.”

Secretary-General Avasarala looked away. Tears pooling in front of her eyes, the surface not breaking.

“I still haven’t forgiven him. For leaving me without a son.” Secretary-General Avasarala wiped at her eyes. Tears floating freely in the room.

“I lost my son twice. Once when Charanpal died. And again, when Cotyar died. Both times I was the reason they were killed.”

Monica is stunned. She feels gutted. How cruel. How absolutely tragic. That a woman like this could make her feel so sad. A woman who before had only been a heartless and cutthroat politician. Who ostentatiously flashed her privilege and wealth by covering herself up in jewels and gold.

A beacon of light in a dark satellite like Luna.

Now, Monica realized that she glittered, but she was not gold. It was all an armor. A heavy distraction. An illusion so that others would get caught up in the sparkling beauty of the jewels and luxurious fabrics that cost a ton to ship from Earth. It was all to keep others from looking too closely at how sad she was due to immeasurable loss.

At how lonely and guilty she felt.

Knowing that she would either lose those she loved or lead them to their doom.

//

“Therefore, I had to test you. Bobbie trusts you. And I trust Bobbie. I love Bobbie. But that love and trust does not automatically extend to those they love. Just ask my daughter.” Secretary-General Avasarala smiles. Contrite.

“My husband is dead. My sons are dead. My daughter and her useless husband, along with my grandkids, they are alive. So, I am eternally grateful for that. I am eternally grateful that my dear Bobbie is alive too, you know.” Secretary-General Avasarala tells her.

Monica takes it all in. Can she feel the full weight of Earth’s crushing gravity up on the surface of Luna? Because that is what it feels to have this knowledge inside her head. To have to untangle these threads. Make sense of these pictures she did not know she would be privy to see.

“I am willing to protect what little is left of my family with the might of the UN military police behind me… so yes. I had to test you. And you are right. You passed because you are everything Bobbie said you were.” Secretary-General Avasarala tells her.

“What? Good in bed?” Monica throws out. Petulant.

Secretary-General Avasarala stands up and pours herself more alcohol before gently chiding her. “Don’t be fucking crass. Or fish for compliments. It’s unbecoming.”

Monica’s head is spinning. Not because of the alcohol. Her head is a storm. Chaotic. Full of too much information and still hungry to know more.

//

Never had she lost control of an interview. Especially when she was the subject of said interview. It helped her understand why Madam Secretary-General Avasarala was a force to be reckoned with.

//

“No. Although I don’t doubt how good you are in bed. After all we know how athletic our little Bobbie can be. What I meant is that you are persistent and inquisitive. You want to know the truth, but you are also not willing to sacrifice the people you care about in the pursuit of that truth. I admire that.” Secretary-General Avasarala smiles as she delivers her assessment of her.

Monica frowns. Not understanding what kind of test could measure that from simple trespassing charges. How she could be read so easily while barely having interacted at all with the woman in front of her.

//

“Don’t look so confused. Bobbie knows you wanted to be in that situation room with us. But she is also loyal to the chain of command. She likes rules and clarity. She sees herself as a simple soldier even when she is extraordinary… so that is why she could not tell you what we saw and said in that room. You knew it was tearing her up inside. Her loyalty to me and to you. So, like Cotyar, you took the decision off her hands. You came here, to dig around for the truth without compromising Bobbie. Showing me that you are willing to put her first. But you are also not willing to stop searching for the truth. So yes, this was a test. And because you passed the test, I think you deserve a reward.”

//

The Secretary-General opens up a projection. Showing Monica the whole incident.

//

Before the video ends, she gasps. She drops her glass. It floats. Monica instantly reaches up to catch it. A reflex.

//

“I tried to tell James that The Zmeya’s attack didn’t make sense. There was one unaccounted missile that should have hit us. But it missed the sun. Bobbie was the only one that would listen. She said I was right. That I knew the answer just not the question because missiles don’t just go off course. They meant to miss us. The meant to launch the protomolecule through the ring. Marco Inaros had it then. And he has it now. Along with control of the ring.”

The words flow out of her as soon as she thinks them. Monica is astounded. How close she came to the truth without actually grasping it. And yet, here it was. Staring at her in the face.

//

She was right.

She was right.

She was right.

//

Secretary-General Avasarala smiles. Pleased.

“Not exactly, but close.”

She pulls up a closeup of the encounter. Letting it focus on the Martian ships.

//

“No.” Monica’s face turns white. She feels sick.

//

“Now you understand.” The Secretary-General looks troubled. “Bobbie helped me see this too. She knew that there was a conspiracy within Mars. To dismantle its military. Sell it to the highest bidder. It happened to be Marco Inaros and his Free Navy.”

“The asteroids. That is why they hit Earth.” Monica supplied without thinking. Her brain already filling in the blanks automatically.

Secretary-General Avasarala’s eyes shined. She looked proud. “Bobbie was right. You are quite brilliant at your job. Yes. Stolen stealth technology served as a distraction from his true target.”

//

Monica blushed at the compliments. Not knowing how to deal with another person like Bobbie. Who saw her as more than just a reporter that often put herself in dangerous situations because she needed a good quote to go along with her story.

//

“He needed the protomolecule as final payment to the rogue Martian ships.” Secretary-General Avasarala filled in with what Bobbie and the UN generals told her.

Monica shook her head. “No. It’s not possible. They know what happened at Ilus.”

“They do.” A confirmation.

“They wouldn’t” She answers, horrified.

“They will.” Secretary-General Avasarala corrects her.

//

“Why just the ring? Why give up hundreds of habitable planets for a potential weapon you can’t control? What good is ancient technology if it is meant to kill and destroy everything that interacts with it?” Monica’s eyes are unfocused as she continues to make connections without quite understanding what the conclusion should be. This didn’t make sense.

The planets were invaluable.

The ring was nothing.

//

“Marco Inaros knows they can’t use any of them.” Monica looks up. Shocked at her own conclusion. “He never wanted the planets. He wanted the ring. He wanted to be the new Medina Station. An in-between point that makes the belters rich by exploiting Martian and Earther labor.” She says.

Secretary-General Avasarala looks at the paused video and frowns. “You really are too smart for your own good.”

Monica feels a chill run down her spine. A warning. A threat. “What do you mean?” This was how she died. Killed by her lover’s protector. She would laugh if she wasn’t about to be killed by someone tinier than her.

//

“Oh, don’t be so fucking transparent. I’m not here to fucking kill you. I just needed a drink and an introduction after the test. That’s all. I can assure you that I only meant to say that you really are too smart for your own fucking good in the best way possible. Not like some goddamn villain in a cheap movie.” Secretary-General Avasarala reassures her before continuing.

“What I wanted to say, just before you nearly shit yourself to death and thought I could possibly poison you with the same fucking liquor I’m drinking. Is that nobody in that fucking room. Save of course, for some generals. Nobody understood what it meant to have the ring be a goddamn chokepoint.” The other woman stares at Monica. Studying her.

“I planted the possibility in our conversation and you quickly extrapolated that. You took into account Belter physiological limitations, Martian and Earther needs, along with greed to a perfect summation of why Marco Inaros was never about anything other than a power hungry, greedy, son of a bitch. That is all. Marco Inaros is dangerous because he is charismatic and ruthless and willing to use violence to assert dominance. He has killed millions upon millions of innocents, and he won’t stop until he is allowed to be the undisputed ruler of the ring space. He wants to control that choke point. That is what those fucking useless generals call it. It’s apparently a choke point. And Inaros wants to exploit us the way we exploited them.” Secretary-General Avasarala summarized.

//

It was a lot to take in.

And yet.

Monica’s mouth was already forming questions she should not ask but knew needed an answer.

//

“Shouldn’t he and the belt be given that much? It was, after all, their sweat and labor that built Mars and Earth. That continued to fuel them with precious resources like metals and water, while forced to choke on limited air.”

Secretary-General Avasarala did not flinch at her words. Instead, she looked at her as if she were an idiot.

Monica hated that look. “You don’t think the belt was exploited? Forced to subjugate themselves for the good of everyone else but themselves?”

“They were and they will continue to be. That is not the point.”

Monica was outraged. “How could their lives not be important!” She shouted.

//

Secretary-General Avasarala sighed and pushed the screen away. The room was dimmer without the projection. “I said it was not the point. Not that you weren’t right or that they didn’t matter. I am a fucking politician. I am not stupid. I know that we will always need to exploit someone to stay in power and to stay rich.”

Monica stepped back. Who was this woman?

//

“The point, the reason why I need you is because something destroyed whatever was smart enough to build those rings. A civilization far more advanced than all of humanity put together. Earth, Mars, the Belt. We cannot compete.” Monica’s eyes widened. Madam Secretary-General Avasarala was right.

“I tried to run against Nancy Gao because I believed she was wrong. I hoped she was right. But we saw that she was not. The rings opened up a gold rush and just like California, the only thing we got were piles upon piles of hopeful idiots wanting to make it rich. We did not understand what was beyond those gates and we don’t understand what is beyond them now.”

//

“Oh my god.” Monica fell into her chair. It finally dawned on her. The slow zone incident, the fleets of heavily armed Martians and Free Navy belters. The awakening of Ilus.

She saw how it all fit together and still saw nothing at all. It was all too much for her to understand. To fully process. Without a good night’s sleep and maybe five less drinks sloshing around her head.

//

“You don’t want the truth. You want another spy.” She finally says. Deathly calm and annoyed at the situation she found herself in.

Secretary-General Avasarala shrugs. “Why can’t I have both?”

Monica stands up. Enraged. “You would use Bobbie this way?”

Secretary-General Avasarala squints and turns her shoulders away. Letting Monica understand, that no, she would not.

“You would use me this way. That is why you told me all of this. That is why you tested me. I was always meant to pass. I just was not always meant to be trusted until now.” She bit her lip.

Mad at her own foolishness.

For someone meant to be so quick at putting things together, she had been stupid enough to not see the picture within the picture.

The fact that Secretary-General Avasarala had told her that she lost a son did not hide the truth of the matter. She also lost a spy. If Bobbie was willing to risk her own life to save those she loved and she loved someone as smart and resourceful as herself… it would make sense that she would naturally fill the role of Cotyar with someone that would already be in the middle of it.

“And if I refuse to be your little plaything? If I report the truth of this meeting?” Monica tested out a theory of her own.

Secretary-General Avasarala shrugs. She takes a drink real slow. Like she already knows that Monica is more interested in this than she is in spilling all of Secretary-General Avasarala’s dirty little secrets.

“You can refuse. But I think we both know that the minute you do, you will not be allowed into the back room. You will not be allowed to be as open with Bobbie. Or with me. Or any of them. Because they will always wonder why you can be trusted with Bobbie’s heart but not the truth.” Secretary-General Avasarala finished her drink and tilted her head. Curious as to how her words would land.

Monica closed her eyes and dropped her shoulders. She sighed. Resigning herself to knowing that she would do anything for the truth. But she would do more for Bobbie.

//

Fuck love.

Fuck the truth.

Fuck looking for answers in the dark and finding a bigger conspiracy than she thought was possible due to having one lingering question about a stupid little missile.

//

“Okay. Fine. I guess I will be your spy Madame Secretary-General Avasarala.”

The other woman shook her shoulders in delight and smiled. “Oh, please, Monica dear, you don’t have to be so formal now. Call me Chrisjen. Or Avasarala. Bobbie likes to call me _Ma’am_ or _The Old Lady_. But I am sure you are smart enough to realize that I am not as fond of you yet as I am of my little Bobbie… so please, don’t fucking call me that.”

Monica sighed. Exhausted. How could Bobbie possibly think this viper of a woman was worthy of admiration and endless loyalty?

She would never get to the truth of that. But now, she guesses that it did not matter.

She had other things to worry about.

//

//

When she finally made it back to their room, Bobbie was still asleep. Monica took off her clothes and crawled into bed with her.

As if sensing she was back, Bobbie’s body automatically opened up for her. Made room for her. And Monica greedily basked in the warmth and safety of her as she thought about what she knew.

She wondered how it would be possible. To fulfill her role as spy and reporter.

_“Oh my god, I’m a fucking cliché. I’m superman. But the distorted version of him. Where I am spy instead of a hero.”_ Monica thought as she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no idea what will happen in the next season, but I am praying that Monica gets a bigger role. And if that happens to be made up of more scenes with Bobbie, than who am I to doubt the TV gods in their infinite wisdom to feed my gay thirst that way?


	3. A Prelude to A Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to talk about what happened in Mars and on their way to Mars and you know, stuff that leads up to the actual incident. I guess this should have been called: "The Prelude to the Mars Incident: The Start of a Fight." But that was too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t even finished Abaddon's Gate. I’ve only seen the show. So, we are just getting into wild theories, and speculation here. Enjoy a misinformed ride.

//

**_The Farewell_ **

//

“I don’t think it’s the right time for this.” Monica hears James Holden say. Tired. Even though they have Naomi back, he still looks tired. Sounds exhausted. Like he will never be able to sleep again.

Even then, he sounds happier now.

But so tired.

Monica wonders if there was ever a time he had been able to rest. Not since The Canterbury blew up, probably. Or maybe even before then. He was probably born with the weight of the universe on his shoulders.

Monica presses herself against a wall. Close enough to listen from her position, but just out of sight from inside the med bay.

“You’re right. It’s a terrible idea. But the Razorback needs repairs.” Bobbie tells him.

“Why can’t you just stay docked with us? When we get to the nearest station, we can fuel up together, repair the ships and then head to Mars. You can continue hitching your ride with us.” James comes up with a reasonable plan. Not quite understanding why Bobbie was pressing this one thing. There was no rush. Naomi was with them. They were together. They could get to Luna together. Or stop off at Mars as a team and then go to Luna.

“Come on Bobbie. What could be so important that you can’t be here when she needs us? We just lost Alex.” James says.

Bobbie sighs. “I know. But I’m not a fucking doctor. I’m a soldier. And as a soldier I can tell that there’s a war headed our way so I need to prepare.”

“Naomi don’t need you to be a doctor Bobbie. I don’t either. We just need our friend.” She hears James respond.

“You’re wrong. Not about needing a friend. I need that too. But I make a shitty friend in times like these. Even after losing Alex like we did.” Bobbie pauses. “The thing is… when we were on the Razorback, we had a lot of time to talk… and he mentioned something about needing to save his family.”

“And he did.” Holden says. After a moment Monica hears the accusation. “So, then, why do you look so guilty?”

“Because we were both talking about the Mars of our youth being gone. All we are doing now is building a coffin for its corpse. The ones that could get out, have already done that. Or they are going to keep doing it… and this… this thing with Marco Inaros… it’s a conspiracy that goes much higher… that is what broke his heart.” Bobbie stumbles through her explanation.

Monica leans her head back and sighs. She can just picture Bobbie. Her sad eyes pleading as she struggled to find the right words in a way that would make her sound kinder.

She had done some research on the woman. After she had gone to sleep. She found a lot of medals. Combat experience. A lifetime of military service cut short at critical moments that later intersected with James Holden and his crew.

Bobbie was still fresh off the military and a planet shaped by that culture. It would make sense that she would expect her directness to be an asset. She did not have time for niceties. She assessed a situation and said things that civilians. Or even her friends, would find abrasive. Not out of malice. But taking the long way round to get to your point was impractical. Why tell people “we might be in danger” when “get down” is more effective?

The fact that Bobbie was taking the time to find the right words meant something.

“I know I’m being a shitty friend. To you and to Naomi. Especially after this. But the thing that kept me going through my grief was to do something that mattered. I told Alex that. How I got through the betrayal that Mars was facing. That to do something that mattered was what helped me find my way out of an exhausting sadness. And Alex being Alex said that the only thing that mattered was saving his family… and now I need to do something to honor him and his family… that is why I need to get to Mars.” Bobbie admitted.

Monica exhaled. Guilt. Bobbie felt like her way of dealing with the situation in Mars pushed Alex’s body until it could not cope with high-g maneuvers.

//

There was some shuffling coming from inside the room. Monica wanted to get closer, but she was afraid of being seen or setting off the door.

“But why do you need to go now? We can fuel up, get repairs and then head there together.”

“Because we need to resupply. We can only get fuel at a station. Anything else is too dangerous. Even at UN owned stations. What if they’re in on it too? If I get to Mars first, I can get the Razorback up and running while I secure some ammo and weapons. You bring the Roci around and we can load her up with things that Inaros doesn’t know we have.” She hears Bobbie explain.

Silence.

“Jim.” Naomi’s voice is weak. Barely audible through the doors.

“No. We can always get some…” He tries, before Bobbie interrupts him.

“Yeah. We can go back to Tycho, where Fred Johnson was assassinated by his own people. Same place your ship got sabotaged. Where Monica nearly got herself spaced for letting you know about the protomolecule. That same station? Sure, let’s head there now and walk into a trap. Want to point their guns at our heads while we’re at it? Maybe space ourselves to save them the trouble of having to push a button?” Bobbi answers petulantly.

//

Monica nods along. It was a terrible idea to go to Tycho or any other big station for repairs or to resupply with anything other than fuel. Marco Inaros had a lot of allies before he launched a coordinated strike on Mars, Earth, and Tycho. Now that he had been successful, there would be even more Belters that would welcome him as the dawn of a new era. Allies that would no longer have to hide their loyalty and devotion to the Free Navy. Opportunists that would want to take revenge on anyone they could and would use chaos as a cover.

//

“We already rescued Naomi. She needs to heal. She can’t do that if we push this ship past 1/3 G because that means everyone’s gotta be juiced up to the gills. It already took Alex. We just go her back. I’m not risking her life for this.” Bobbie says. Voice wavering.

“Bobbie.” James tries again.

“Holden, Naomi is suffering from radiation burns. Still needs hydration… rest… you both do. All of that takes time. If you fuel up and head to Mars at a comfortable speed. It’s a short trip. Only four weeks and you will be giving Naomi time to recover.” With Bobbie pointing out how stressful this would be on Naomi’s weakened body, it finally hit him. Why she was insisting that she be the one to deal with this alone.

It was funny how Holden thought that keeping everyone safe meant keeping them together. While Bobbie thought it meant only putting herself in danger. They could stand to lose her, but not each other. Both of them wanted the same thing and had come up with different solutions.

Monica closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hating how much she liked Bobbie’s selflessness while simultaneously hating it. How could she think she was not needed here? How could she see herself as expendable?

//

Monica does not hear the rest of the conversation. She is so mad at Bobbie for wanting to go off alone. To ensure everyone’s safety by sacrificing her own.

She was meant to go to Bobbie’s room. Instead, her mag boots took her straight to her own room.

Her hands were not her own. Years of doing this meant she could finish packing her things at a moment’s notice. She walked through her room one last time, picking up a spare set of drone batteries and headed to Bobbie’s place.

She’s still trying to find a way to sneak into the Razorback if she can’t talk her way into it, when the door slides open.

//

Bobbie looks ashamed.

Monica wonders if this is the first time she will be lied to. Would it be by omission? Flat out denial? How would Bobbie tell her that she was planning on going off on her own? Were they even anything? Would it matter that she was leaving, and Monica was left behind?

//

“After we fuel up, I’m going to Mars.” Monica is surprised. She had expected Bobbie to avoid the topic altogether. They only had another day before a station.

“But you already knew that.” Bobbie quickly deduces. Staring at Monica’s pack.

Monica nods.

“Good. I don’t have to repeat myself. Since I’m assuming you heard what I told Holden and Naomi.” Monica nods. 

“It’s going to be dangerous.” She warns. Monica rolls her eyes and clenches her jaw.

She wonders if it would be better to try the journalist angle with Bobbie. Instead of admitting she was angry. Afraid.

Although, it was not a bad idea. It could win her an award. To report how Mars is falling apart before anyone else could get the word out.

It would be far more productive than locking herself in her room for the next month. Doing research. Typing up scripts while she reviewed footage… it would be nice to relax after all that excitement. It would also be nice to get an exclusive look at Mars right now. While this information was still unknown.

Once the story is out, it would be impossible to be the first to break things first.

She is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she does not notice Bobbie had moved. Not until her hands are being gently unfolded from in front of her body. Monica wants to be petulant and resist. But she still does not know how to let Bobbie know that she was coming with her.

“You have a gun in that thing, or do you need one from storage?” Bobbie asks as she wraps her arms around Monica.

Monica pulls back. Confused. “But you just said it was dangerous?”

She had expected an argument. Shouting.

“Yes.” Bobbie acknowledges as she smiles down at Monica and tries to kiss her.

Monica pushes Bobbie back and stares. The pieces are there. She just does not understand how they fit. There is no picture in her mind. Just a blank. “But you just said—”

“That it was dangerous. Yes. Because it is.” Bobbie tells her.

“Then why?” Monica is still puzzled. Bobbie just keeps on surprising her.

“You’re already packed. So that means you plan to go. Right?” Bobbie shrugs. As if that were an answer.

//

Monica nods. Her lips part and close again. There are no words.

She expected more resistance. People always pushed back when she tried to embed herself as a journalist. They resented her presence. Thought she was an annoyance. Or, worse, they thought her a useless waste of cargo space. Of resources.

Even those she had gone from acquaintances and sources to something akin to friendship. They still toed the line with her. Being friendly but never comfortable with her. Afraid that they would say something that would end up on the interplanetary channels.

Friendly but resistant.

Those she was involved with had a harder time than acquaintances or sources. Things would start off great and at some point, like this one, they would start taking issue with her line of work.

Some tried to tell Monica where she could go. The stories she should be interested in.

Relationships had an expiration date. A time when they would end up in a recycler. To be discarded and turned into something new because it was nice to sleep with her, but they ran out of patience when Monica insisted on keeping her job.

She guessed that it was easier to love someone who could stay. Someone that would stop chasing after danger.

Others just hated the way she kept pulling at threads. How she wanted to unravel every mystery. To get to the center of things.

The truth was uncomfortable, and some would rather avoid it.

And that part of her wanted to understand why Bobbie would just agree when others would find it easier to leave. To not have her along for the ride.

Holden had not wanted her here. Bull had tried to physically remove her. So what made Bobbie Draper different? What made her agree after telling Monica that it was dangerous? Why try to give her a gun?

//

“And that’s okay with you?” Monica tries again. Needing to know. Wanting to understand what Bobbie was thinking.

“No…” She starts and Monica’s eyes narrow. _“There it is.”_ She thinks. Disappointed at being proven right.

Bobbie laughs low in this sexy way that makes it hard to stay mad at her. “I mean… sure I’m not thrilled that you’re coming… but it’s just because it’s risky and getting shot at tends to kinda put a damper on a first date.”

She looks down and bites her lip. “But that’s just me.”

Monica leans into Bobbie as she laughs. It was an unexpected answer.

“Nice to know that getting shot at, truly is the way to a woman’s heart. And here I thought I would have to spring for tequila and noodles.”

Monica lets herself enjoy this moment. Smiling and shaking her head. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? Noodles and tequila are strictly a third date sort of thing.”

Bobbie smiles down as she leads them towards the bed. “Yeah?” She asks. Kissing Monica.

“Yeah.” She answers. Hands reaching up to zip down Bobbie’s suit.

“In that case… if I promise someone might possibly, more likely, definitely shoot at us on our first date. What does a second date entail? Romantic hand holding in the med-bay?”

Monica shakes her head as she laughs. Bobbie could be such a brat sometimes.

“How about you give me a little preview of what happens at the end of these dates… so that I know whether they are going to be worth my while or not, and then I tell you?”

//

**_The Trip_ **

//

They finish fueling up and buying expensive meds for the Razorback. The kind that rich people can easily afford. That others buy knockoffs of.

And that people like Bobbie, those caught in between, can apparently just get without any effort.

Monica files that away in her head. The knowledge that a disgraced ex-Marine without a pension can buy the real deal. Can afford to equip her ship with expensive juice and mods without trading in any favors. Without scrambling.

That knowledge is important enough to take note of. To uncover later.

//

Their trip is meant to be a short one. Only two weeks.

//

They learn a lot about each other in that span of time.

Monica learns Bobbie will never see herself as a hero. She just does what needs to be done.

//

Bobbie learns that Monica had studied psychology at university. Even got a masters. She wants to ask more. What drove her to pursue journalism instead. But the way her voice sounds wistful and sad makes her change the subject.

Monica realizes that Bobbie is a perceptive woman in the ways she knows when to push and when to stop. It took her years to learn those skills. The type that could help her read people. Monica wishes she could have what Bobbie has. That natural ability question. To care. To not care.

If their roles were reversed, Monica knows she would have not know when to stop. She would have pushed and pushed until she was satisfied that she knew all there was to learn.

When Monica met resistance, it was exciting. It meant she was onto something. When Bobbie met it, she stopped. Re-assed. Withdrew.

Monica liked to uncover puzzles. She liked to pull at string. She just wondered why Bobbie would expose weakness and not go in for the kill.

//

Another thing that Monica learns about the woman in front of her. On the pilot’s chair, is that she is brash. Sarcastic. She is funny. Loud.

She is also very patient. She is kind. And she is willing to teach Monica how to drive a very expensive and beautiful ship, just because she sounded genuinely curious about a ship like the Razorback.

Monica had been proud of herself that day. She did a 4G, 500k burn, just to see what it felt like.

Bobbie is a woman that never stopped surprising her during a trip that felt like a fun vacation instead of a ride towards the promise of uncertain violence.

//

**_The Mars Landing_ **

//

The more Monica learns about Bobbie, the more she realizes she does not know the woman at all.

//

Mars is a desert. In the literal sense, where it is a wasteland where nothing can grow. And in the literal sense. Where all the inhabitants have boarded up and left. Or are in the process of doing just that.

They arrive at the docks. Not the ones where Bobbie used to work at. The ones that served as her penance for doing the right thing. For defecting to a higher truth than the authority of Mars.

An authority that would rather sacrifice the name of a good soldier for the good of the people. For a new type of weapon that tore Eros apart.

They land in the docks that former Madame Under-Secretary Avasarala keeps for Bobbie’s ship.

Another fact Monica files away in things to ask about later.

//

In lieu of wearing the sleek, silver suit of the special forces Bobbie often wears, she comes out of the Razorback donning a bright orange jumpsuit.

It should be garish and awful.

Instead, it makes Monica want to take a bit longer to disembark this ship.

//

While Bobbie takes care of unloading the ship, she tells Monica that she will catch up with her. She has some things to take care of before she can head home. She transfers access and details from her hand held to Monica’s.

Her brother is gone. He left her his apartment.

Then, before she can leave. Bobbie kisses Monica and presses a small device into her palm.

“Do not upload this to your hand held when it is in any network. The device is a beacon. Stand-alone. It will lead you to a safe place. If you get in trouble, meet me there. It’s by the graveyard.”

Monica pulls away. The laughter dies in her throat when she realizes that Bobbie’s face is closed off. Serious.

She wants to know more. Pull and pull until this unravels.

Bobbie sense a question and comes in quickly. Kisses her quiet. “Keep your gun on you at all times. Concealed. But ready.”

Monica’s heart beats faster.

She realizes that for the first time, she might be out of her depth. She has no research. No sources. Nothing but an overheard conversation and a very determined Bobbie Draper.

She is about to question Bobbie about it when they are interrupted by men in matching, garishly orange suits. Just like Bobbie. They wear them differently though. Shoulders still strong, but a hint of a gut makes their silhouette less sleek. They remind Monica of Alex. She feels a pang of loss. He avoided her interviews, but he seemed friendly enough.

“Well, if it isn’t former Demolition Tech Third Class Draper.” They call out to her in a similar lilt to match Bobbie’s own. Bobbie rolls her eyes, and they all acknowledge Monica with that detached coolness Martians always have reserved for those who are not their own kind. She does get a curious raise of eyes brows from one of the men in the back, but it is quickly replaced by lack of interest as soon as his eyes focus on Bobbie.

Monica smiled and faded into the background.

It was always humbling to know that no matter how much fame she acquired by doing things like being the first reporter through the ring.

She still could never compete with something as simple as old friends catching up.

//

Monica stops at the apartment. It feels like she is chasing after the ghost of whoever is haunting this place. By the look of Bobbie’s stuff scattered across the living room, she knows that it’s Bobbie. Bobbie who is haunting this vacant place.

Everything is neat. Clean. Devoid of personal belonging except those already familiar to her.

She explores the apartment. Curiosity and boredom pushing her to open doors and drawers. Even with two empty rooms, it is clear that Bobbie only made room for herself in the living room. An eternal guest to a family that would never set foot on this planet again.

Monica finds it incredibly sad. But fitting. The way that Bobbie can’t move into either room but is refusing to stay anywhere else.

//

She looks down at her phone as she opens drawers in the bathroom. Trying to find the towels. She is frustrated. There is still no answer from Martians she had reached out to a week before their arrival.

Monica strips down and tries again.

She steps into the shower and hopes that the people she remembers from here will be able to send her a list of names. They might not be good sources for anything this big, but they might know someone that might know someone.

//

She finishes putting on her suit and drying her hair when she checks her messages. Impatient.

Nothing.

Monica is putting away her clothes next to the couch that clearly serves as Bobbie’s bed when she gets a ping from her hand held.

Then another.

The excitement quickly sours in her mouth with the new knowledge that most of the people she reached out to have already gone off planet. That the delay in responses was due to space. Regular lag.

The ones that are on planet tell her that they are too busy trying to take care of some things. Alluding to a sudden trip that came up.

“Fuck.” She whispers to the empty apartment.

Everyone is going to be too busy raising enough funds to leave the planet.

One source was honest. He had given up a job as an ice hauler for the chance to wait in line outside the ring.

He heard that one of the new systems had a habitable planet that was surrounded by moons made entirely of ice. Free air and infinite water. They would never have to worry about recyclers again.

“Fuck.” She shouts this time. Frustrated. Knowing that the dreams of free air and infinite water were exaggerated. Too good to be true. But they were still resonating with those that had always been oppressed by a collective state-planet and the fear of a dome falling down on them.

//

She walked around Mariner Valley. Switching stations and drifting aimlessly from one transportation pod to another.

Choosing random stops to try to get a feel for the city.

All she gathered was a feeling of eerie dread.

Announcements cheerfully echoed through loudspeakers. Bouncing off empty walls. Encouraging citizens to join the Marines. Be part of the terraforming project. To do their part for Mars.

Signs flashed across empty businesses about everything needing to go. Whole shopping plazas boarded up.

Some screens flashed jobs that promised passage through the ring. They needed scientists and engineers. People willing to do their part for something beyond a plot of land that would never materialize in 100 years.

 _“Come join us on New Mars! No passage fares needed. Just relevant experience and a willingness to work for us! Bring the whole family!”_ They read. With a small addendum at the bottom. Barely legible. _“10-year minimum commitment required.**”_

//

She wandered into a bar and tried to start some conversations with people.

Everyone shut her out.

//

She finishes her drink and leaves. Makes her way back to Breach Candy station. Taking video and dictating some notes in the empty hallways.

Monica understands what Bobbie and Alex had discussed before he died a disillusioned man.

Mars had changed.

It was falling apart.

Everything seemed to have been sold to the highest bidder.

The ring gates were the new great hope of a people once united in a dream of terraforming and war.

They no longer had to sacrifice to get a plot of land for their children or their children. They could get as much land as they wanted in a whole new world.

//

**_The Soul Of A Nation-Planet_ **

//

When she returns to the apartment, Bobbie is sitting there. Drinking with a man who is hunched over a beer and complaining about how the VA does not seem to have the time of day for him.

Bobbie’s hand pats his shoulder. Reassuring. She takes a drink and looks up at Monica. She shakes her head, she understands. She does not introduce herself. Just sits in their periphery.

Listening to the conversation with interest.

They lament the loss of the Mars of their youth.

How they don’t recognize this new Mars. The kind that would let people be unemployed. Slipping through the cracks like the takers on basic.

Bobbie is soft in the way she chastises him for that kind of language. Recounts how, when she was giving her statement to the UN for the whole Ganymede incident, Madame Avasarala said something interesting. “Millions of Earthers on Basic. Not for lack of wanting work, but just having none available. Not enough opportunities… I thought she was full of shit. Mars always had more work than people to fill it. Everyone could do their part for Mars. And now…”

Her friend looks contrite. Monica stares. Wonders if that was what made the Martian defect during the trip down the well.

“Yeah, and here we are, without a pension and living off of cheap beer because it makes recycled sweat and piss taste better than water ever does.” He answers. Bitter. Forlorn.

Monica can see the same broken look reflected in Bobbie’s eyes.

Now she understands the orange uniform. The way she had worn that instead of her silver suit she often donned in the company of James Holden.

A disgraced ex-vet would have no need for a suit made for armored tech. For battle. Would stand out more than some dock worker trying to get from her home to the yard.

She had regular clothes here. But Bobbie seemed unable to break away from donning one uniform after being denied another.

//

Bobbie was a true believer. Any job that served Mars was one worth taking.

//

When he noticed that Monica was there, he wiped at his eyes. Pretending he had not been crying about being unable to afford a ticket out of this dead rock. The scientists were gone. His body was broken. He had no skills and no job. He had always been a grunt and now he was stuck here.

Before he tried to leave on unsteady legs, Monica heard him ask Bobbie “I wonder if this is what those skinnies felt when they were being torn apart in Eros. All that hard work and you end up a fucking husk on a dead rock.”

Bobbie clicked her tongue. Reprimanding him for the insult. “Guess they’ll say the same shit about us dusters. All those scientists and soldiers and all that was left were washed up nobodies that couldn’t afford a ticket out of the coffin they built for themselves.”

He sobs into her. The truth hits harder at dusk. During intimate moments like these.

His arms are dead weight. He lets himself be held like a child. Bobbie doesn’t run soothing circles around his back with her hand. She simply held him tighter in a vice-like hug. As if she could squeeze the sadness right out of him. Squeeze out all the tears and moisture until there was nothing left to cry with.

He’s sad. Sloppy. And Monica’s heart breaks in understanding. She looks up and Bobbie’s eyes are closed. She can see that the woman is also crying. Tears running down her face. Glistening in the reflection of the black screen inside the living room.

Monica clenches her teeth and looks away. Trying to swallow the lump forming in her throat. Knowing that whatever she writes about mars dying will fail to capture the deep sadness that runs through its collective soul.

“I’m glad you came back. Even if it was to die along with the rest of us.” Monica hears him whisper into Bobbie’s neck. Shoulders no longer shaking.

“You’re a good Martian, Draper.” He pulls away and touches her face. His eyes look far away. As if he were imagining someone else. Monica wonders who he lost that he was trying to replace.

His smile is sad. Bobbie looks back. Just as broken.

“Thanks Schultz. You’re a good man too.” She tells him.

He tries to head for the door and stumbles.

Bobbie turns around and tells Monica she needs to go for a walk.

“Come on big fella. Let’s get you home.” Bobbie tells him. Soft. Gentle. Shouldering most of his dead weight with ease. As if the gravity near the core meant nothing to her.

//

Bobbie’s return is punctuated by the door hissing open and a couple of curses. Chairs falling over slowly.

“Shhhh.” Bobbie admonishes the inanimate objects.

Monica wakes up confused.

She’s on the edge of consciousness when she hears a small, muffled sob.

She’s out of the couch in a second.

Crawling around in the dark until her fingers find the edge of Bobbie’s body.

Monica expects the other woman to push her away.

She is crying in the dark. In the middle of the night. She might want privacy. To fall apart alone.

Instead, she reaches forward and pulls Monica down. Closer to her. “It hurts.” She confesses.

“What do you need?” Monica whispers.

“You. Just you.” Bobbie admits.

Monica holds the other woman against her stomach. Bobbie cries silently. The only thing that lets Monica know she is even hurting is the way her body hiccups. The way her shirt gets damp where Bobbie’s face rests against her stomach.

//

“I thought I had exhausted all my grief over this.” Bobbie admits. Once she has nothing left to give. No more tears. No more drunken sadness. Just emptiness where the heart of a strong and united mars used to beat.

Monica leans down and kisses the other woman softly. Bobbie tastes of beer and immeasurable sadness that runs deeper and wider than the canyon of Mariner Valley.

Monica lets her hands wander. Wanting to explore this new Bobbie. A woman that refuses to hide. Even from her own grief.

She doesn’t know how it happens. One minute they are kissing. The next they are naked. Bodies closer and completely open. The floor is cold. Unforgiving concrete that works on bruising her body as the warm pressure of Bobbie’s body remains a constant.

Monica pushes Bobbie’s thighs apart. Lost in the feeling of the other woman. Enjoying the wetness she finds in between the valley of legs. She licks away at the way the other woman tries to moan against her. Keeps pushing deeper and deeper. Meeting the rise of Bobbie’s hips with a steady rhythm. Closing her eyes and chasing after the high of each shuddering moan as Bobbie’s body keeps tensing for longer.

She opens her eyes and tries to see Bobbie through the dark.

There is only the idea of an outline in front of her. Bobbie keeps moaning low as Monica licks down her neck. Feeling the thundering pulse with the edge of her tongue.

She opens her mouth wider as her weight falls down onto Bobbie. It brings a frictionless glide of her own wetness against Bobbie’s thigh. Bobbie tries to pull her closer as her body keeps tightening out of control.

A wire about to snap.

Her muscles keep tightening. Her breathing comes along in shorter and shorter spurts.

Until she explodes. Until she lets go.

//

**_Precursor to A Funeral_ **

//

Monica is still thinking about that night. How they fell asleep on the floor. Woke up with aching bodies and moved onto the sofa until they slept through most of the morning away.

Tonight, they were heading to one of the domes that had a park. In the Ballard neighborhood. Where Alex used to live.

Bobbie is unrecognizable.

She is wearing her black uniform. Medals shining against black.

“Some news are better heard in person. Even if they already know. They still need to hear it outside of a fucking screen.” Bobbie tells her.

Monica nods and comes along. Not for a story. Or out of curiosity to know more. For once, there are no strings. No pieces. No puzzles to solve.

She is simply a woman trying to support the woman she cares about.

No one should have to face this alone.

//

“Talissa Kamal.” Bobbie states. Even though it should have been a question.

The other woman’s eyes widen. “Roberta.”

“Former Gunnery Sergeant, Roberta Draper.” She introduces herself, uselessly. Extending her hand. Which the other woman takes, numb. “I’m afraid I have some bad news, ma’am.”

They are let in and Bobbie repeats the news the woman had heard weeks ago. The funeral preparations were still ongoing. They were waiting for his body. Still weeks away.

Bobbie hands Alex’s ex-wife a framed picture of him. Real paper. A small fortune.

Talissa takes it and gasps. Not recognizing the man that had left her with this one. He was in his Rocinante uniform. A wide smile. Genuinely happiness shining through. A black line details the length of his life. A quote on the bottom. By the top edge of the frame.

Bobbie reaches into a pocket and pulls out a tacky looking shot glass.

Talissa smiles with tears in her eyes as she takes it into her hand.

“I don’t know why he loved that place. It was pretty fucking tacky and always smelled of cheese. But I thought… well I guess I thought it would be a nice reminder of him.” Talissa cries as she looks at it. Looks at Bobbie. She smiles and then her eyes darken. Recognition clouding her features.

“She’s not here about a story. Just as my girlfriend.” Bobbie reassures the other woman. Who instantly relaxes and nods. She smiles at Monica and rests a hand on Bobbie’s lap.

“Tell me, how did he die?” Talissa asks. Small.

“Honorably.” Bobbie answers. Talissa looks up. Bobbie smiles and places her hand on top of Talissa’s.

“He was tasked with a rescue mission. A woman had been kidnapped and we flew straight into a trap. He… he risked his life to ensure our safety… he died a hero. Even if the reports only mention the stroke due to high G maneuvers. He was a hero and I owe him my life.”

Talissa looks down at the photo. “I’m glad he died doing the only thing that made him happy. Even if that wasn’t his family.” No bitterness. Just a fact.

//

**_Hero Takes A Fall_ **

//

Bobbie gets shot.

//

Only, Monica does not know this yet.

//

Bobbie gets shot and Monica is not worried at all.

//

In fact. She only starts to worry when Bobbie fails to come home on the second night she is gone.

Monica tries to call Bobbie again.

“Bobbie, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I need you to call me back as soon as you can so I can know whether I should be worried or not.” She leaves another voice mail.

//

After another hour of radio silence, she moves onto a new tactic. One that often yields results.

//

This tactic fails. In fact. The only thing that does help her is happenstance.

She is digging through Bobbie’s things on the couch when her jacket is pushed to the floor and a small, round thing falls out. Rolling on the concrete until it hits a table leg.

Monica picks it up and the blood drains from her face.

//

She follows the instructions Bobbie told her when they landed.

//

Bobbie had been shot and Monica does not know. But she has a terrible feeling. Drowning her from the inside as her legs take her from the Innis Shallows station through darker and darker corners of Mars.

//

Bobbie has been shot and Monica does not know, until she does.

Until she opens the door and finds the woman shaking. Sweating. White. Pale. On the brink of consciousness and passing out.

A pool of vomit and blood was nearby.

The woman was in worse shape than she knew.

Monica rushed to her side. Knowing that Bobbie’s mind might not have been clear. The blood loss and exhaustion catching up to her before she could complete patching herself up. There was a line of staples half holding an open wound on her side closed. And half moving away. As if she could not focus on where the line was and just guessed with the rest.

There was a fully loaded injector next to her. Surely loaded with the antibiotics and fluids she needed.

Bobbie’s right hand flinched, and she shot another staple into her body. This time, it landed on her thigh. Half lodged in.

Monica pulled the staple out. Careful to stay out of Bobbie’s reach. Just in case the other woman was startled awake by the pain.

Nothing happened.

Monica tried not to panic as the reached over Bobbie’s limp body. With the injector in her hand, she applied it directly to Bobbie’s neck. The other woman only grunted.

“Shit.” Monica thought.

This was not good.

It was not good at all.

She checked the apartment.

There was no auto-doc. She should have known that. If Bobbie were attempting to fix herself with antiquated tech, it meant that without an auto-doc, they would have to wait until the cocktail of antibiotics and drugs kicked in.

Sure, there were things in the Razorback that could probably help. Monica could not use them. It was physically impossible to lift the other woman to get her there and she was afraid to go out alone.

Not without being detected.

Although this place was mostly deserted, Monica knew that everyone on the planet distrusted her. She was an Earther and a reporter. Add an unconscious and bleeding woman to the mix and that is too many strikes against her.

She looked around. Trying to think of a plan to get them from these dilapidated accommodations to somewhere closer to the city center. Where they could use one of the many empty shells acting as storefronts that advertise space for rent, to get an auto-doc. To stay compliant every Martian public space had to have medical supplies. Just in case they were ever invaded by earth.

Martians loved contingencies. And this was one that would work in their favor.

Only if they could both get there. Or if she could get there and back without getting lost. Or found by the people coming after Bobbie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one:  
> Absolutely no one:  
> Me: Maybe I should write some more super sad sex between these two again…
> 
> I can’t believe a one shot, based on 3 seconds of eye contact, is turning into a 5 chapter “mini fic that is already 20k words long.” If anyone can save me from myself, much appreciated.


End file.
